


Here Comes Trouble

by frozensea



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Espionage, F/M, Face-Sitting, Flirting, Pre-Canon, Undercover Missions, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensea/pseuds/frozensea
Summary: "Give me a war dog assignment."His father sighed and turned away. "We talked about this before."Oh, they had. Many times. But this time would be different.
Relationships: Nakia (Black Panther)/T'Challa
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Here Comes Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



"Give me a war dog assignment."

His father sighed and turned away. "We talked about this before."

_Oh, they had. Many times. But this time would be different._

"Father, you know how much I value your counsel–"

"Though you delight in arguing with it even more," his father interrupted him. Stopping among the paddocks of the Border Tribe's outpost, he offered a handful of grass to one of the rhino calves that trod over to them. "I admire your stubbornness, T'Challa, but as much as I encouraged your brashness as a youth, it must now be tempered by patience. Field assignments are dangerous work, and I will not have you risk your life before you're ready to do so."

Ready? What did that even mean? He'd completed his education. He'd accompanied his father on diplomatic mission. He'd been trained in combat since he'd been old enough to hold a spear. He was more than ready to take the next step. But he couldn't let his frustration get the better of him. That had been his mistake in the past when his father had rejected his request.

Today, he'd come prepared. Today, he would hold on to his temper and change his father's mind.

"You are a wise and beloved ruler, baba, and, with your guidance, I hope that I will be worthy of yours and mother's legacy. You have taught me how to serve and guide our people, and once I inherit your duties, I must also protect them as the Black Panther."

"And I will prepare you to do both," T'Chaka promised. “In due time.”

"I fear that I will not be able to discharge either duty to the best of my abilities if you keep shielding me from the risk that I must ask ordinary men and women to face in service to Wakanda.”

“Our war dogs are hardly ordinary,” T'Chaka chided him softly. He left the calf to his afternoon snack and turned towards his son. “They are highly trained operatives, proficient in many skills.

“And yet, unlike the Black Panther, none of them have Bast's blessing bestowed upon them. They must rely on the strength of their bodies and the cunning of their minds. How can I ask them to do this, when I never had to do the same? Is there not a danger that I will overestimate their abilities and underestimate the dangers they face because I can not relate to their situation?"

His father gave him a long, considering look, and T'Challa could see surprise flitting across his face. "You have given this some thought since we last spoke."

T'Challa answered with a self-deprecating smile. "I may even have practiced this speech in front of a mirror."

Amusement danced in his father's eyes. "The last time I had cause to do so was when I decided to propose to your mother."

"I am ready for this," T'Challa said earnestly. "I will not be reckless. Let me prove myself to you."

* * *

His contact was late.

His mission brief had been simple. His target was Terence Hale, an American art dealer, who'd popped up on their radar when a war dog had tracked down an associate of Ulysses Klaue last month.

Even though the connection between the two men seemed tangential at best, Klaue was such a persistent thorn in his father's side that any lead which might result in information as to his whereabouts needed to be pursued.

This was why T'Challa was sitting in a cafè in Kinshasa, watching the busy traffic rush past the large windows while he waited for the operative who was to supervise him on this assignment to appear.

Which they should have done half an hour ago.

_"If you are determined to take on this assignment, I need to know that you will follow through on it. Do not abandon this mission, even if you believe that there is little chance of finding Klaue." His father had looked at him sternly._

_"I wonder that you have so little faith in me that such a reminder is necessary,"_

_"I wouldn't have chosen this assignment for you without reason. Sometimes, the hardest lesson to learn is when to follow our heads and when to follow our hearts.”_

_The glint in his father's eyes had not only gotten his attention but also raised his suspicions. “That sounds unnecessarily ominous. Is there something you're not telling me?”_

_But his father's only response had been to take a firm hold of his shoulder and smile cryptically. “I have faith in you, my son."_

_The words “do not make me regret it” had been left hanging in the air between them._

T'Challa looked at his watch again, a twinge of anxiety tugging at him.

At least Hale didn't appear to be in a hurry. He sat placidly, calf balanced on the knee of his other leg, his newspaper open in front of him, and a steaming mug of dark coffee next to his elbow.

T'Challa was beginning to suspect that their intelligence had been wrong, that even if a connection existed between Hale and Klaue, there was no meeting with any of his associated taking place here today.

Sipping his own coffee, he let his gaze wander across the patrons. A ceiling fan had dust motes dancing around couples and businessmen in wicker chairs. A group of students was loading up on caffeine in the corner, their conversations sparse as they hammered away at their keyboards. The bell above the door chimed when a group of women entered, their laughter boisterous as they sought a free table.

No one looked as if they had any agenda aside from living their lives.

He was contemplating whether or not he should contact his handler when he was distracted by one of the women who'd just come in stepping away from her group.

She was stunning. Her tall figure was clad in a deep green dress, which showed off slim, but strong legs that went on for miles.

 _You're on a mission,_ he reminded himself with a fleeting sense of regret. _No time for distractions._

Still, her self-assured stride and confident air was an arresting sight, and when his gaze rose up to her face, he had the wind knocked out of him by her bold and knowing smile. A conspiratorial wink had him straightening on his bar stool. His pulse sped up.

But even though her eyes swept over him with obvious appreciation, she walked past him and addressed the barista.

 _It's for the best_ , he thought as he released a breath. _You're not here to flirt with beautiful women._

He drained his cup and ordered himself to ignore the lingering scent of her perfume.

Determined to put her out of his head, he turned back to see how far Hale had progressed reading his newspaper... only to find his table empty.

Staring at the abandoned wicker chair, T'Challa cursed himself thrice over. His training kept him in place, but he felt the urge to move push at him, a prickling sensation in the back of his neck as if ants were crawling over his skin.

_Calm. Stay calm. He can't have gone far._

He dismissed the front exit. Hale would have had to cross his line of sight in order to leave that way. Which left the hallway in the back.

_He probably just went to the bathroom._

Striving to appear inconspicuous, T'Challa got up and crossed the room.

_You're going to open that door, and he'll be in there washing his hands, and you will have worried for nothing._

The bathroom was empty.

His stomach in knots, T'Challa reentered the corridor and turned further down the hall. As he'd known since yesterday's reconnaissance, there was a backdoor that led into a narrow alley.

_But why would he leave that way?_

He cautiously opened the door. Seeing no one in the alley, he stepped out into the sunlight. A quick glance to either side confirmed that he was alone.

"Damn it." His mouth turned into an even grimmer line when he suddenly heard a sound above him.

His gaze snapped upward.

Hale was standing on a narrow balcony two floors above him, the barrel of his gun pointing straight at him.

Before he could so much as move a muscle, strong hands suddenly grabbed him by his clothes and pulled him back through the doorway just as the first shot echoed between the buildings. The bullet grazed his upper arm. If he'd not been pulled back it would have hit his chest.

He stumbled over the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind him. A second later, he found himself pressed against the wall. It took his sight a moment to adjust to the sparse light in the hallway before he realized that the person who had pulled him back was no other than the woman he'd been ogling moments before.

"What are you doing?" she hissed quietly. She pressed him further against the wall as she craned her slender neck to see whether or not the shot had been heard inside the cafe.

From the muted conversations and lack of panic, T'Challa assumed that it had not.

"Who are you?" he demanded, ignoring her question.

The woman glared at him but pulled down her bottom lip to show him the war dog tattoo on the inside.

"You're my contact? Why didn't you identify yourself?"

She ignored his question. Stepping back, her hand ran down his arm to the narrow tear in his jacket.

"You are injured. Let's get out of here. We can talk later."

Turning away, she strode down the hallway without a backward glance, secure in the knowledge that he would follow her.

* * *

"I was told to test you. So, I waited to see what you would do," she said as she closed the door of the hotel room behind him. "Sit down. Let me look at your arm."

T'Challa perched on the edge of the bed. He couldn't, in all honesty, say what bothered him more, that his father's agent would put him on the spot like that or that he had evidently failed her test.

His eyes followed her as she retrieved a black duffel bag from underneath the dresser. While he peeled off his jacket, she retrieved a first aid kit from inside and strode over to inspect the abrasion on his arm.

He could feel the strength in her hands when she touched him and he indulged his desire to follow the lines of delicately defined muscles in her bare arms with his eyes.

It was perhaps not the smartest move, given that his conduct must have already earned her disapproval, but he'd always had a weakness for playing with fire. Besides, the last thing he wanted to think about was that he'd blown his cover and would probably be sent back home in disgrace. No, he was going to let the sight of her be a distraction from the disappointment he was sure to see on his father's face.

Except it didn't work.

No sooner had his thoughts arrived at his father that T'Challa felt a heavy lump settle in the pit of his stomach. He hung his head.

He'd failed. Not just as far as his mission was concerned, but more importantly, he'd failed his father's trust in him. And he had no one but himself to blame.

As he watched her lay out bandages and antiseptic wipes, he wondered how her report would read, and a hot wave of embarrassment rushed up his neck. His father would definitely not be the only one to read it. There was General Nohara, the head of operations, who had briefed him, as well as whoever was this senior agent's handler.

Said senior agent was looking at him curiously. “Do you need to lie down? You don't look well.”

_And now she thinks I'm about to pass out. You're truly doing a fantastic job._

He opted for honesty. It wasn't as if he had much to lose. “I am well. Embarrassed, but well.”

"Mm, you should be,” she said evenly though there was the barest hint of an approving smile in her eyes that took the sting out of her words.

 _Even that is more than I deserve_ , he thought glumly.

Since the first moment he'd seen her, she'd carried herself with an air of confidence that had him equal parts enthralled and intimidated, though now that he had time to really look at her, he realized that she could not be much older than he was. It made him curious as to why she had been chosen to keep an eye on him.

"How old are you?" The question came out before he could stop himself, and he could immediately tell that it had been the wrong thing to say by the way her eyes narrowed.

"Old enough," She motioned for him to take off his shirt.

He unbuttoned his sleeves and let the dress shirt slip off his shoulders. It did not escape his notice that her gaze strayed to his chest before she focused her attention on tending to his arm. Thankfully, the bullet had done more damage to his clothes than his arm, though he was acutely aware that it was only thanks to her pulling him back into the safety of the hallway that he was still alive.

So much for proving myself.

"Forgive me. I offended you." At her non-committal acknowledgment, he pressed on. "I did not mean to question your skill or experience. I jeopardized this mission, and I hope you will be able to salvage it after I return to Wakanda, and face my– General Nohara's reprimand."

Her hand froze above his arm, and he hissed as the sting of the antiseptic wipe lingered on his wound.

“You're going to turn tail and run back home?” She huffed. “I had not pegged you for a quitter.”

“I had assumed that you would make me leave,” he said cautiously.

When her only reaction was silence, he felt prompted to add, “Of course, if there is anything I can do to help you...”

Nakia finished disinfecting the gash in his arm. "There is no need to abort the mission. I put a tracker on Hale before he entered the cafe."

T'Challa exhaled. It appeared that he'd been given a second chance. _Don't mess it up. Stay focused._

"Who were the women you came with?" he wondered as she bandaged him.

"Just a group I ran into in front of the cafe."

"And they just invited you to sit with them?"

Her intelligent eyes bore into him. "I am very good at my job."

Chagrined, he conceded the point. "Whereas I have proven myself a failure."

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes in dismissal of his assessment. "You are too hard on yourself. This is your first mission, Sehle."

Hearing her address him by the cover name he'd been given made him wince. He did not wish to deceive her, but his father had insisted that his true identity remain secret.

"Your preparation for the meeting was sound. You did a good job surveilling the area before you committed yourself. And you blended in at the cafè. Not standing out... unless we want to,” she gave him a pointed look that made him flush, “is one of the most important skills a spy must learn."

Which meant she'd been following him. Since yesterday. And he'd been unaware of it.

It finally dawned on him that he was completely out of his depth.

"I never saw you," he admitted.

“As I said, I'm very good at my job.”

“I have a lot to learn.”

He wasn't sure if her steady gaze held more amusement or censure. "Yes, you do. You became distracted... staring at my legs."

He was acutely aware of the way her hands felt against his bare arm. An embarrassed smile stole onto his face, and he rubbed his free hand through his hair unable to meet her gaze. There was no point in denying it.

To his surprise, she hooked a finger under his chin and lifted his head. "Wondering how they'd look wrapped around your waist?"

Heat flared between them with a suddenness that had him breathless.

Was she– She couldn't be flirting with him, could she?

 _No, she is too professional for that_ , he thought. _And she's been kinder than I've deserved. This is not an invitation, it's a reminder to stop thinking with your dick, you idiot._

He remained silent, not wanting to give her more ammunition than she already had.

Her smile turned dark, and his mouth was suddenly dry as the desert.

"But what you failed to consider is that I would wrap them around your head instead and make you prove to me whether or not you deserve any more privileges than that."

He wasn't sure how it was possible for his cheeks to burn when all the blood inside him was rushing south.

He felt as if he'd been hit by a train. His imagination lost no time to render a very vivid picture out of her words.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Was this another test?

Apparently satisfied with what she had seen in his eyes (and he didn't dare to speculate what exactly that was), she stepped back and offered him her hand.

"My name is Nakia,"

* * *

The tracker Nakia had put on Hale led them to a different, more upscale hotel in the city.

Nakia left him to come up with a cover story that would distract the concierge long enough so she could get Hale's room number from the computer, and some of his confidence returned when he accomplished the task without a hitch.

They secured a room directly above Hale's, and by the time Nakia was climbing down onto his balcony, T'Challa knew two things beyond any shadow of doubt: that, regardless of her youth, Nakia was driven by a single-minded determination that had him running to keep up with her, and that he'd never been more attracted to a woman in his life.

They spent six days following Hale and listening in on his phone calls. Most of his meetings consisted of vernissages, auctions, and dinner conversations at upscale restaurants, but twice he led them into the shadier parts of town; a night club where Nakia charmed her way past the bouncer, and the backlot of a shipping firm late one night, where, in order to avoid getting caught, a wrong turn had had them surrounded by thugs.

Nakia was a fighter.

It shouldn't have surprised him. Her training had, as his father had said, indeed been comprehensive, and the uncompromising way with which she dispatched her opponents had him questioning whether or not he might have accidentally stumbled across a kink that had long lain dormant. He couldn't come up with another explanation as to why he had to mentally go through an alphabetical list of municipal resource distributions in order to stave off the persistent threat of a hard-on.

He was in awe of her. He had no doubt that she could wipe the floor with him, and he would probably not only enjoy it but thank her for it afterward.

An unhappy result of his attraction to Nakia was that the more time he spent with her, to more he hated keeping his real identity hidden. The innate dishonesty it entailed chafed at him, and at night, once Hale had gone to sleep and they spent hours talking about their childhoods and the choices that had brought them here, it was especially difficult to skirt the reality of who he was.

He tried to be as truthful as possible, but Nakia was smart. He was sure she could tell that he was holding back, and while she had not pressed him on the issue, he imagined seeing disappointment in her eyes.

They'd just returned to their room after the fight at the shipyard when Hale received a phone call.

“No. No, I've been careful,” they heard him say.

“I'll tell you what's wrong. There was a fight down by the river just now. No. I don't know if it had anything to do with us. I only heard them, and I didn't stick around to find out.”

Throwing a concerned glance at Nakia, T'Challa registered that she winced. He held his breath, hoping that the altercation at the docks hadn't spooked Hale, but as the man continued, it became apparent that it had.

“Listen, I still don't know who that guy in the alley was. I mean, I haven't seen him since, but I still think it's a bad idea to just... Listen... Listen, I've already taken a lot of risks here. Going to the docks in the middle of the night is not how I do business, so don't try to rope me into... No! There's no way that I'm going to meet him again... Are you crazy? Klaue will kill you as soon as look at you. If I'd known that he was involved I would have told you to go to hell from the start.”

“Fuck.” Nakia punched her fist into her open palm. “He's going to rabbit.”

“I don't care,” Hale continued, voice rising with agitation. “Send a courier. I don't care if I'm not getting paid for this. I'm out. I'm going home. Fuck you. You can't talk me out of this. I'm leaving for the airport in an hour. If your damn courier isn't here by then, I throwing your damned flash drive into the first trash can I see.”

For a moment the feed went silent, and then the bathroom door was pushed open forcefully. A muffled “fuck this” was accompanied by the slamming of that same door before the sound of running water reached their ears.

“What do we do now?” T'Challa asked.

Nakia was off the bed, an excited grin blossoming on her face. “Follow the courier, obviously. Finally some movement in this case.” She reached for her duffel and pulled out a small box from which she retrieved two earpieces, one of which she handed to him. “I want you to wait in the lobby for me. See if you can spot the courier when he comes in and then get the car ready. We'll follow and see where he leads us.”

As it turned out, the courier was a bike messenger. Abandoning the idea to follow him by car, T'Challa went down to the hotel's garage and told Nakia to meet him on the first sublevel.

She arrived, breathless, barely two minutes later. “I put a tracker on her in the elevator, but we have to hurry.”

T'Challa grinned, adrenalin pumping through him as he gestured towards the motorcycles he'd hot-wired. "Think you can keep up with me on one of these?"

Her smile turned predatory. She'd never looked more beautiful. “See and find out.”

* * *

They ended up on a plane to London, trailing a young man in a crisp gray business suit who had taken possession of the flash drive at the airport.

With little left to do while the plane was in the air, their conversation had drifted comfortably from Nakia relating anecdotes about previous stakeouts to their shared desire to serve Wakanda, but before he fully realized how it had happened they found themselves entrenched in an argument about Wakanda's role on the world stage.

"We could do so much more," Nakia said fervently.

"We are doing what we can," he countered. "We cannot save the world. Not only is it impossible, but the world would not thank us for it. Protecting our people and our way of life must be our first priority. If we lose sight of that and endanger Wakanda... what good could we do outside our borders, if our resources are spent fighting off outsiders?"

Her smile was bemused. She shoved his shoulder amicably and threw herself into the backrest of her aisle seat with a huff. "You sound as if you memorized our king's speeches by heart."

He blinked. She wasn't far off. He'd certainly heard his father practice speeches many times. When he'd been but a boy, T'Challa had even humored him when he'd found him practicing one in front of a mirror and coached him to project an air of confidence. "Always believe in what you say. Those who listen closely will know if you don't."

 _This is the time,_ he thought. _The perfect opportunity to tell her who you are. You won't find a better opening than this._

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

Would their relationship change once she knew? Would it end the easy camaraderie they'd shared during the last few days?

"I do believe that our king has only the best interest of Wakanda and it's people at heart," he said cautiously.

"I agree. But it is frustrating having to work only from the shadows. If people knew who we really were, we could be a stabilizing influence in the region." Her gaze strayed across him to the window where the plane's strobe lights flashed in the night. "A beacon of hope."

"I admire your altruism," he said quietly. "And your heart, but what you propose is a slippery slope. We would draw too much attention. If history has taught us anything, it is that the resources we have would be coveted and our refusal to share them would not be respected. We cannot fight a war on two fronts. If we want to help people, we must remain hidden. I understand your frustration, but working from the shadows is the best we can do, and we have helped many, protected them, and changed their lives for the better.

"It's not enough," Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear her, and he suspected that they had not been meant for his ears at all.

Her gaze remained fixed on the window as she leaned her temple against the pillow she'd wedged behind her head. Her confident air, her single-minded determination seemed to drain from her frame, and he could see sadness and resignation take their place.

A corresponding pressure built in his chest, and he absentmindedly rubbed a hand across his heart. How could he have known her for less than a week and feel her dejection so vividly?

He had no words to comfort her. Young as she was, she must have seen more injustice, hardship, and horrors during her work than he could imagine.

This was only his first war dog assignment. And while he was no stranger to the devastation that exploitation, war, and terrorism wrought on the world (on his parent's insistence it had been a cornerstone of his education), what experience he'd gained was restricted to reports and photographs, new segments and video footage. It was removed from his everyday life, information that was studied and set aside after his lessons were over, homework discussed and sometimes mulled over in the quiet hours of the evening, but distant in its suffering and corruption, something that never touched him physically.

Being in the middle of it, unable to close her eyes and walk away, Nakia's experiences were surely a different matter altogether.

Reaching out, he covered his hand with hers.

She startled a little, looking at him as if she'd forgotten he was there.

Then she looked down. Her expression turned soft. After a moment, she turned her palm to lace her fingers with his.

* * *

They followed a chauffeured town car to a private business club and that's where everything went off the rails.

"Any idea how to get in there?" T'Challa asked as he and Nakia walked past the marble-studded entrance.

"That will be your job," she answered. "They do not allow women past the lobby."

While he was contemplating how to gain access to the club, a black limousine pulled up alongside the entrance.

He couldn't even explain why his body suddenly tensed up or why he instinctively pulled Nakia closer to his side.

She shot him a curious look but followed his lead and they made it half-way to the corner before T'Challa finally made the connection between the car's diplomatic license plates and a trip to London on which he'd accompanied his father.

"Prince T'Challa?” a man's voice called out behind them.

For one insanely hopeful moment, he thought that if he just kept walking and pretended not to have heard anything, they could get away... but Nakia stiffened beside him and he knew that his secret was out.

Then he heard his name a second time. He stopped walking. _No use running now._ He closed his eyes.

_Damn it._

When his gaze found Nakia, he wasn't surprised to see anger and betrayal there. What did take him aback was the disappointment that flickered in her eyes right before her expression turned blank, shutting him out as effectively as if she'd slammed a steel door in his face.

“Let me explain,” he said quietly, but any attempt to do so was disrupted by the arrival of a stout, Caucasian man in his late fifties and his security detail.

“Prince T'Challa,” he addressed him for the third time, while T'Challa gritted his teeth. “I was not aware that you are a member of Gray's. It is good to see you again."

He didn't dare look at Nakia as he accepted the proffered hand. "Consul Honae. My father and I remember our last visit to your country fondly. I hope you have been well."

“I have indeed. Please remember me to your father when you see him again. Or is he in the country as well?”

“Uhm... no. I am here on vacation with my...” Nakia flashed him a warning glance. “... bodyguard.”

"Ah, one of the famed Dora Milaje, " Honae said. He inclined his head respectfully. "It is an honor."

Nakia returned the nod, then turned back towards him her expression simultaneously of deferential and expectant.

While it unnerved him, it also spurred him into action.

"An acquaintance of my father recommended this club to me, and as we are in the city, we thought to decide for ourselves whether or not its reputation is deserved." He scrambled a bit a he felt his way along the lie, but continued. "Though my father's acquaintance neglected to mention that my security would not be allowed to join me."

"Ah, yes," Honae took up the thread. "This acquaintance was probably aware that your father takes a rather dim view of the kind of exclusivity that is practiced here." He bestowed a regretful look at Nakia. "My apologies, ma'am.”

To T'Challa he said, “If you would like me to show you around, I can sign you in as my guest. There is a sitting room just off the lobby where your bodyguard can wait until we're back."

T'Challa was torn.

Everything inside him rebelled at the idea of them getting separated. For a second, he had the absurd notion that she'd be gone the second he let her out of his sight and that he'd never get a chance to explain himself to her or apologize for his deception.

Of course, she was too professional for that, too professional even to let him flounder with indecision.

"I'm sure I can entertain myself for an hour," she said with an encouraging nod.

T'Challa looked at her, taking in the proud way with which she held herself, the determination in her eyes.

"If you're sure."

"I am... Your Highness."

Her use of the honorific almost made him flinch.

Turning to follow Honae, T'Challa expected Nakia to fall into step beside him. Instead, she waited for him to pass and took up position half a step behind his right shoulder.

 _A servant, not an equal,_ he thought uneasily and a sense of coldness spread in his stomach. It felt as if he'd accidentally swallowed an ice cube.

* * *

"You do not have to explain yourself," Nakia cut him off mid-sentence. "I understand why you kept your identity a secret. It was a prudent decision."

They had checked into a hotel in the center of town... under his real name, at Nakia's suggestion. Her argument had been that since his presence had already drawn attention to them, it would look suspicious if they disappeared without a trace.

Halfway through the tour of the club, he had seen the businessman they'd been following sitting in deep conversation with two equally well-dressed men. Neither of them had been Klaue, though T'Challa would not have expected to find a man like him in a place like this anyway.

He'd hurriedly taken a picture with his phone before Honae had ushered him on.

"I wanted to tell you," T'Challa tried again. "And I am glad that you found out, even if it was in a manner that I would not have chosen. You deserve my trust. And you deserve the truth."

Nakia didn't look up from her tablet. She'd uploaded the photograph he had taken and was checking it against their security database for a match. "It would have been foolish for you to reveal yourself to me. And it makes no difference to the mission."

"Doesn't it?" He tried hard to reign in his frustration. In spite of her claims to the contrary, he could feel the distance growing between them as if he stood at the edge of a chasm during an earthquake.

He couldn't blame her, he reminded himself. She'd been open with him, had shared her life, her convictions, and passion for her work with him, and he'd given her half-truths at best.

 _Trust cannot grow in soil saturated by lies_ , he thought grimly.

The irony of it was that now that she had shut him out, he was the one who felt vulnerable, and every minute that damned neutral expression remained on her face, every time she walked half a step behind instead of barging on ahead, he felt more exposed.

"Of course, it doesn't,” Nakia replied while studiously avoiding his gaze. “Your identity has no relevance to the objective. You are here to learn and aid me. As it is, your true identity actually helped us gain access to the club, and we may yet find out where Klaue is hiding. This only leaves me with the hope that I have been, and will continue to be, a worthy teacher."

And there it was. The reason he wanted to climb the walls.

Deference. Or rather dissent masquerading as such.

He knew that game, had played it himself when he was younger, a boy bored on his parents' diplomatic missions when he'd rather have played outside with W'Kabi or teased his sister into leaving her studies and inventions to chase him through the halls.

Instead of risking one more argument about wearing a suit and being presented as the King's heir at another dinner party, he'd obeyed his parent's orders to the letter, but not one inch further, feigning confusion when his father had sighed and his mother had hidden a knowing smile behind a glass of champagne.

The rebellion of the powerless, his mother had called it. And then she'd sat him down and gently explained to him why he wasn't powerless, why he had options, and why he needed to weigh them against the responsibilities of his birthright.

The thought that Nakia felt that she could not trust him with her anger because of who he was, was sobering.

He had no idea how to make this right.

Nakia accepted a video call, effectively cutting off any possibility of further conversation.

To his surprise, it was his sister's face and not their handler's that took up most of the screen.

"Hi, Nakia,” she greeted them with a toothy smile. “It is good to see you again."

"What are you doing at operations?" he asked.

Shuri's eyes went wide. Her gaze flickered uncertainly between him and Nakia. "Uhm, you're Sehle, right? What I'm doing here is none of your business," she said, her tone getting loftier as she overcame her surprise.

T'Challa sighed. "Nakia knows who I am, Shuri."

"Oh, boy. You broke your cover?" She looked positively gleeful. "You're in so much trouble."

"You could at least pretend you don't enjoy that," he admonished her mildly. He was too fond of his sister to be truly mad at her.

Shuri waved her hand dismissively. "I could, but who would believe me?"

Behind her, General Nohara, the head of operations, tried to cover her laugh with a fake cough. She leaned down next to Shuri, nodded respectfully at him, but addressed Nakia. "We identified the men on the photograph."

"Yes," Shuri chimed in eagerly. "I just finished updating the facial recognition software so it will work more efficiently." Her face sobered. "These are some really bad men you're dealing with, T'Challa. Promise me that you will be careful."

"I will," he reassured her, then added with a look at Nakia. “We both will.”

Shuri rolled her eyes. “Nakia can take care of herself. I am not worried about her.”

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," he grumbled.

He wasn't too offended. The corners of Nakia's mouth twitched as if she was trying to hide a smile, and he would gladly suffer through a little good-natured ribbing, if it stopped Nakia from thinking of him as the crown prince of Wakanda, and got them back on more even footing.

“I need to know you'll come back home in one piece,” Shuri continued.

"Of course, little sister."

"Because I don't want to miss papa roasting you for disobeying orders."

"Shuri...."

"I'm just saying. It's so rare for you to get into trouble, that it's a nice change of pace."

"Shuri...."

"You know, he says my name exactly the same way you do? Shuri..." She mimicked the fond exasperation in his own voice. "I don't know why. It's not as if I meant to blow up my work station...."

"You blew up your work station?"

"Just a little. I made a tiny miscalculation on the ratio of nitrate to...

"Shuri..."

"It's not as if anyone got hurt."

"Shuri."

"I mean aside from a singed eyebrow or two."

"SHURI!"

"Right. No, sorry. The photograph."

Nakia turned her face away. A suspicious tremor ran through her shoulders.

Nohara leaned back into the frame which resized itself into a smaller window in the upper corner of the screen. The photograph itself appeared, highlighting the men's faces as Nohara relayed the intel that had come up in the database.

* * *

“So we're looking at corporate espionage,” T'Challa said thoughtfully some time later.

“The timing fits. The university has been trying to keep the theft quiet, but we're pretty sure it's the reason their competitor has been trying to expedite their own patent. If they can present evidence that they discovered it first...”

“Stolen evidence,” T'Challa said when Nohara left the sentence hanging. “If the patent goes through, it would revolutionize the way we harness solar energy. The patent would be worth billions.”

“Which is why these people do not shy away from leaving a trail of dead bodies behind.”

“How is Klaue involved in this?”

“We don't know, yet. His closest association is to van Hoedecke, that's the blond man next to your courier. They've worked together in the past, and Klaue has used him to facilitate connections to criminals who are... well, who do not like to get their hands dirty, but prefer to delegate such things.”

“He could be behind the initial theft,” Nakia suggested.

Nohara nodded in agreement. “That seems most likely. Hale was probably supposed to pass on either payment or further information to him.”

“So what do we do now?” T'Challa asked.

“Intercept the flash drive,” Shuri said at once. “Return it to the university. You can exchange the drive for a copy. I'll write you a program that will corrupt the data just enough to keep the engineers busy for a few weeks before they figure out that their drive is worthless.”

Nohara nodded. “It will give you enough time to track the payment back to Klaue and any other associates.”

"Hey, since Klaue likes to be paid in diamonds, do you think you could you get one of those for me when you track him down?" Shuri asked suddenly. She was vibrating with barely restrained excitement.

T'Challa frowned, taken aback by her sudden change of direction, "Shuri..."

"Oh, there is that tone again..." She slumped into her seat, pouting the way only a teenager could.

"This is hardly the time,” he told her. “But even if it were, the answer would obviously be 'no,' and I don't even want to know why you..."

"I am working on a new laser," Shuri started. "If my calculations are correct, and they are, it is going to optimize the way we mine the vibranium and streamline..."

"I will ask father to get you one. The legal way."

"Oh, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why would it not be?"

"Because you're in trouble," she said, her expression deceptively innocent. " _You_ broke protocol.” She turned to Nakia. "Has he been acting very foolish this entire time?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

T'Challa was ready to protest, but Nakia's answered before he could get a word in.

"The prince has comported himself very professionally. His cover identity was compromised through no fault of his own, and it helped us procure the photograph. He did not break protocol, but adapted to the circumstances and used them to our advantage."

By the end of Nakia's report, Shuri's mouth hung open. She blinked. "What's going on?"

T'Challa tried very hard to maintain a neutral expression. "What do you mean?"

"You-" she pointed a finger accusingly at Nakia, "are never this formal." Her gaze shifted to T'Challa. "What have you done to piss her off this badly?"

"Shuri..."

"Naahaaa. Do not 'Shuri' me. Professional comportment my ass. What did you do?"

Nohara placed a hand on Shuri's shoulder. "I suspect it is not your brother Nakia is angry with, but me. There was no other way, Nakia. It had to be done."

Nakia reached forward to disconnect the call. "Thank you for the information. If that is all, we'll report back soon."

Nohara nodded.

Shuri waved her hands frantically. "No. Wait. I want to he-"

Her face disappeared from the screen. T'Challa had no doubt that she would needle him the second he returned home.

"You are very fond of her," Nakia said quietly.

His smile was rueful. "I am. I have never known anyone more brilliant than she is, or as... hopeful."

"Hopeful?"

"Enthusiastic. She throws herself into everything she does. There is no holding back- no doubt." He laughed. "And very little restraint. She always looks to the best in people. I envy her that ability. I fear I've become too jaded for it."

"Perhaps 'prudent' is a better word," she smiled at him for the first time since she'd found out who he really was, and he could feel a connection like an elastic cord strung between them.

"I do worry that she grows up too sheltered. I fear it will hit her hard when she realizes that there is not always a clear divide between good and evil."

Nakia nodded somberly. “Good people do bad things for many reasons.” She made an abortive gesture with her hand and bit the inside of her cheek.

T'Challa waited, not daring to move.

Resolve settled into the curve of her jaw. She covered the hand he held pressed against his upper arm with her own. "Her heart is strong. As is her spirit. And she has an older brother who will be there for her."

He could feel the warmth of her hand against his skin. Her eyes were bright and soft when she looked up at him, and he'd never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as he wanted to kiss her.

 _Lost any chance of earning that privilege_ , he thought regretfully.

Though perhaps, he could at least earn her forgiveness.

"Will you not them me the truth?" he asked. He kept his voice gentle, loath to destroy the fragile intimacy between them. "I am sorry for any offense I've given. If there is anything I can do to make it right... to regain your trust... please tell me, and I will do it."

Nakia looked away. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked over to the window.

“Operations has been tracking a criminal organization that operates out of South Africa and the United States for the past year and a half. The organization smuggles art, diamonds, people, drugs... they don't care as long as the price is right. There is a young girl who's been helping us. Her name is Jora. She's been with them since she was a small child, too sickly to sell, but useful enough to keep around as a messenger. She wants to get out.

“About a week ago, we finally got an opening to set up her extraction while embedding a spy in their ranks. It's a long-term assignment, but if we can gather information from the inside, we have a much better chance to not only take down the ring leaders but track their associates and get a much better picture of their network than we have now.”

"Something went wrong?"

Nakia looked at him grimly. "I was supposed to be the spy who would infiltrate the organization. I've been Jora's handler from the beginning. I found her. And now I won't even be there to get her out safely, let alone take her place."

"Because you're here," T'Challa said softly.

"Because I'm here," Nakia confirmed. "I haven't been doing this for very long, It was supposed to be my first solo mission – my chance to prove myself. Instead, I was ordered to come home and..." her hands clenched so tightly he imagined he could hear her knuckles grinding in their joints.

"... babysit me," he finished for her.

Nakia didn't correct him.

A chance to prove herself. Oh, if those words didn't hit him harder than any punch ever could.

He'd been so proud of himself for finally convincing his father to send him on a mission. To think that by gaining his chance he'd robbed Nakia of hers sat like a lump of coal in his stomach.

Had Nakia been assigned to supervise a war dog – a real war dog – on his first assignment, it would have been out of his control. He would have never even heard about it.

 _You would never have met her_ , his heart added.

But knowing that she had to forfeit an important mission simply because he'd wanted to play at being a spy... (He refused to lie to himself. The argument that had convinced his father had been strategic rather than truthful. The first few times he'd brought up the subject, he'd envisioned himself dodging bullets and racing cars in high-speed chases while flirting with beautiful women who were ready to swoon into his arms.)

“I'm sorry,” he said well aware of how inadequate his words were.

_She shrugged. “You didn't know.”_

_I wouldn't have chosen this assignment for you without reason. Sometimes, the hardest lesson to learn is when to follow our heads and when to follow our hearts._

_A flash of anger surged through him._

_His father had known. In fact, his father had engineered this from the start._

_“I need to speak to my father,” he realized._

_While the words had mostly been directed at himself, Nakia surged away from the window._

_“You cannot talk to the king on my behalf. I will get another chance to make a difference, and it will be because I have earned it, not because I flirted with the crown prince.”_

_Her expression was fierce and he held up his hands, acknowledging her point._

_“What you do not know, and what I only see now, is that this is a test. My father has used you to teach me a lesson. I may not have known that I was taking a chance away from you, but I am responsible for it nevertheless, and so is my father. Talking to him has nothing to do with what is or is not happening between us, it will restore matters to the way they are supposed to be.”_

_Nakia looked uncertain. “That's not what it will look like to Nohara.”_

_“I would be very surprised if Nohara did not have her own part to play in this.” He placed his hands loosely around her shoulders. “You say you've been involved in this from the start. You are the one best qualified for the mission, the one Jora trusts. Think of her, and let me do this. Please.”_

* * *

His father did not seem surprised to get his call.

“It was a hard decision for me, but I need to know that you can make those as well."

"Then find one that is actually difficult, because this one isn't. Someone else can take over. That's how it should have been from the start.”

“I didn't expect this particular lead to pan out,” T'Challa admitted with a sigh. “Nor did I intend for you to get shot at.”

T'Challa permitted himself a small smile. “You should know by now that I attract trouble. It seems to find me everywhere.”

“Believe me, your attraction to it pales in comparison to your sister's. Did she tell you that she blew up the lab?”

“She said it was only her workstation.”

“And you believed that?”

* * *

Nakia left an hour later.

“I suppose it is unlikely that we will see each other again,” he said softly as he followed her to the door.

Her smile was fond with just a hint of mischief lurking in the corners. “You never know. My replacement will arrive in the morning to discuss how you'll proceed in regards to the flash drive.”

“I will miss you.” He hadn't meant to say it, and from the look of surprise on Nakia's face neither had she expected any such declaration.

He felt heat rising up his neck, but he held her gaze, refusing to take it back.

A smile slowly blossomed on her face, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. Her voice was soft, her breath warm against his skin. “Be well, prince.”

And then she walked out the door.

* * *

A month passed before he saw her again.

He'd just come back from accompanying his father on a diplomatic visit to the United Nations. Glad to be back home, he decided to sit out on the balcony for an hour to let his mind rest. He didn't mind that the sun had already set, the sight of the city lights stretching out below him was always something he had found reassuring.

Leaning against the balustrade, he loosened his tie and he let his gaze follow the boats traveling along the river when Nakia suddenly stepped out of the shadows.

"I must have a serious conversation with security," he joked after he'd recovered from the fright she'd given him. "How did you get up here?"

"Oh, I believe you've seen me climb up and down a balcony before." There was a glint of pride in her eyes. "Don't be too hard on your bodyguards. They've known me since I was a child. Sneaking past them undetected has never been a challenge I could pass up."

"It seems you are disconcertingly good at it. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Her smile had something wolfish, and he felt a sharp tug behind his navel.

She would be the death of him.

"Worried I might assassinate you in the middle of the night."

He stepped closer, holding her gaze. "It _is_ the middle of the night. Which begs the question, if you are not here to assassinate me, why did you come?"

She pursed her lips as he leaned in, but turned her head at the last second, so his mouth brushed against her cheek. Her eyes sparkled teasingly.

He drew back. Just enough to give her room. "Did you find Jora?"

"Yes. I got her out just in time. Nohara was kind enough to set her up with new papers. She has a future now." The relief was evident on her face. It was a rare person who's compassion matched their resoluteness, but Nakia reminded him a lot of his parents in this. He only hoped that he would be able to balance those qualities in his own personality one day.

"I am glad," he told her honestly.

They stood so close to each other that he could feel the warmth of her body in the cooling air. The warm light from his room was reflected in her eyes.

His voice dropped low. "I suppose you won't have time to stay very long?"

She shook her head regretfully. "I'm only passing through.. Nohara asked for an in-person meeting," she leaned closer and one of her hands played with the buttons on his shirt.

"How long do you have?" he murmured.

Her teeth flashed white. "Two days, but I wouldn't want my staying here to get you in any more trouble with the king. Is he very displeased?"

It touched him that she was worried about how his decision had affected his relationship with his father.

"Not as much as I'd feared," he assured her. "We had a conversation – several conversations – about it. We will be alright. I believe he simply wanted to make sure that I had a good reason to let you go, that I wasn't just doing it because..." he trailed off not knowing how to phrase it without offending her.

"Because of a pretty pair of legs?" She smiled. It held a promise that made him weak in the knees. "Still wondering how they'd feel around your waist?" she breathed.

Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled her against him. "You made it very clear that it is a privilege that must be earned."

Her arms went around his neck. "And will you?"

* * *

When he'd been younger, he and his peers had often spent their afternoons on the cliffs by the waterfall, daring each other to jump off the highest, most narrow ledges they could find. More often than not, one of the girls and boys from the River Tribe would win their informal competition as they knew the river and the hidden paths in the cliffs like the back of their hand.

Though testing himself against the courage of the other youths had been fun, the real reason T'Challa had come back time and again was the exhilaration he felt every time he took that final step off the ledge... when he gave his body over to gravity and had no choice but to trust that it would breach the water's surface unharmed.

Kissing Nakia held the same exhilaration. He felt his stomach swoop when she slanted her lips ober his, when he felt the length of her body press against him.

She curled her arms around him, and when her short fingernails raked lightly against his scalp, he felt that friction all the way down to his cock.

"Come," she said when they came up for air. Her hand was suddenly looped around his tie, and he could only follow her in a daze when she tugged him over to his sofa.

"Sit."

A cocky smirk was his only resistance as he sat down and helped her hitch up her short skirt so she could straddle his lap. "You like ordering me around, don't you?"

She stilled. "Do you mind it?"

Her curiosity was open and honest, and he had no doubt that she would stop should he tell her that it bothered him, but he found himself surprised that it didn't. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he felt intrigued by his own response, and the idea of giving himself over to her control stirred something hot and dark inside him that begged to be explored.

"Command me," he said lightly as he nipped at the sharp line of her chin. "I am yours."

She laughed, her obviously delight so infectious that his grin widened even as she lunged at him.

Her mouth found his, hungry and soft, and he lost himself in her. He'd been wrong; jumping off a cliff could never again compare to having her in his arms. It was a thousand times better.

Her nimble fingers divested him of his tie and shirt so she could run her hands across his chest. The soft humming sound she made vibrated against his neck, where she fastened her lips over his throbbing pulse.

He tilted his head back with a groan. The sound ended on a sharp inhale when she rolled her center across his straining cock.

"Nakia," he breathed as he took hold of her bunched up dress and tried to push it higher. He wanted to see her breasts, wanted to feel them, soft and warm, in the palms of his hand... watch the look on her face as he held them, caressed them, sucked the pointed tips into his mouth.

"Oh no, my prince," she whispered, her voice sinfully low. "A privilege to earn, remember?" And then she pushed him into the cushions.

He made a sound of protest when she got off him, but his mouth went dry when he saw her hands go beneath her short skirt. Mesmerized, he watched her step out of her panties, and the knowledge that she was bare beneath her dress now, mere inches from his reach, had his cock twitching in his pants. He'd never wanted anyone as desperately as he wanted her.

"Come here. Please. Let me see you." He didn't even care that he was begging.

Her hand trailed along his chest down his stomach to the buckle of his slacks. "So impatient," she teased as his abdominal muscles trembled under her touch. "So eager."

She was going to kill him. And she wouldn't even need a weapon to do it.

"Nakia," he choked when her fingertips brushed over the bulge in his pants. His hips came up automatically, and the wicked glint in her eyes had him reaching out, curling one hand around her thigh. His other hand clenched into a fist by his side.

Nakia bent over and pressed a gentle kiss against the skin just above his pants. Then she opened her mouth and he could feel the nip of her teeth on him. His hand tightened around her leg, and a string of curses fell from his mouth. He'd never been teased like this, had never put himself at a woman's mercy. He'd also never been turned on like this before.

"Patience, prince," she whispered against his skin. And the fact that she used his title while being so clearly in charge made his head spin all the more. She was going to fucking ruin him, and Bast be damned, he would let her.

She straddled his chest, the long dip in the back of her dress exposing the gentle curve of her back to him. His tongue darted over his lips as she pushed herself backward. Her shapely butt was right in front of him and he couldn't stop himself from smoothing his palms over it, letting his hands wander up the line of her back with one hand, while the other pushed up her dress.

He was burning up, a shiver running through him as she leaned forward and he saw her cunt, wet and glistening, waiting for him.

"Come here," he whispered reverently as he took hold of her waist and pulled her over his mouth.

Nakia sighed as he parted her folds with his tongue. She held herself on her forearms, her cheek rubbing contentedly against his stomach.

He took his time exploring her. For all his heated arousal, he didn't want to rush this. He wanted to learn what made her sigh and moan, what made her shiver and her legs clench around his head. He wanted to make sure he gave her a reason to come back – perhaps even a reason to stay.

"Do that again," she gasped when he flicked his tongue across her clit. "It feels amazing when you brush against it from the side instead of head-on."

He growled. It was so fucking hot when she told him what she wanted, and he applied himself to the task with every fiber of his being. Her taste was heady in his mouth, and he licked deeper into her, his pride surging when she shivered and bucked, almost smothering him.

"Sorry," she gasped lifting up immediately, but he only laughed and pressed his tongue back to her clit – from the side as she'd requested. The sound she made in the back of her throat was worth it. _What is oxygen when I can have this_ , he thought a little giddily. Apparently, his blood rushing south was making him light-headed. Or perhaps it was simply her.

"Do that again," he teased her. "It feels amazing to be smothered by you."

She swatted him lightly against his side. "You're incorrigible."

In retaliation, he nipped playfully at the inside of her thigh. "I believe I have proven myself very amenable to taking directions," he disagreed.

"Mmh- I believe there is always room for improvement," she said, a laugh in her voice.

 _Little minx,_ he thought. But Nakia was not the only one who couldn't pass up a challenge. Where she took it upon herself to find ways to sneak past the Doras that guarded him and his family, he made it his mission to have her collapse in blissful exhaustion on top of him.

To that end, he dove back between her legs, letting her feel his desire, his hunger for her body. Nakia cried out, her thighs trembling. Her fingers dug into his waist, and she pushed down against his mouth. He moaned against her, wound his arms around her so he could hold her to him, both hands clenching around her butt.

Nakia whimpered. Curses and prayers, babbled encouragement fell from her lips as he kept up a steady rhythm against her clit, pushed her higher and higher, until she tensed, her body straining above him, her legs trembling as she fell over the edge.

 _Let me show you how to fly_ , he thought with satisfaction.

Releasing his hold on her, he licked languidly at her folds, soothing her as she came down. He felt an answering shiver down his spine every time the tip of his tongue ghosted close to her clit and her body jerked with aftershocks.

"I need a moment," she confessed while her face rested against his abdomen.

If his cock wasn't already painfully hard, it would have swelled with pride, no matter how ridiculous the notion.

"Stay as long as you want. I could taste you all night."

This startled a laugh out of her. "At the risk of inflating your ego, I would say that you have thoroughly earned the privilege of having my legs around your waist, T'Challa."

He pressed a tender kiss to her thigh. "This is privilege enough."

She was silent for a long moment. "You keep surprising me," she confessed at last, and he suddenly wished that he could see her face because he desperately wanted to know if the vulnerability in her voice was real or only imagined.

His hands softly caressed her hip as he bought himself a little time.

Another reason why he'd come back to the cliffs was that moment of fear that came before he committed himself to jumping. It was the knowledge of risk and danger, the chance to fail or to succeed. Overcoming uncertainty was perhaps the greatest challenge he would ever face, but what choice did he have when the reward was so much greater than the risk?

"If you would grant it, I would like to earn another privilege from you," he said quietly.

"And what would that be?"

"The privilege of waking up next to you."

She stilled. Not that she'd been moving before, but lying on top of him as she was, he could actually feel her hold her breath, before releasing it slowly, controlled, evenly.

She got up and turned around, taking care to arrange her limbs around his torso. He couldn't suppress a needy groan when the wet heat of her cunt settled on his chest, but he tried his best to ignore it.

Nakia looked at him searchingly, and he met her gaze openly, no bravado, no cockiness, no shield to hide the emotions in his eyes.

Whatever she found on his face, it made her smile. Her body relaxed. "That is a privilege not lightly bestowed." Her voice was serious, but her eyes crinkled at the corners.

He smiled at her and tugged at her knees. A hint of his cockiness resurfaced. "It's a good thing then, that I have all night to prove myself worthy."


End file.
